“What kind of dog?” Please don’t say a horned beast with red eyes.
“A dead dog.”
I don’t even know what to say to that.
“Angel.” Trace drops his tone in warning. “We talked about this. If you want to persuade and intimidate, do it with your attitude, not your words.”
“I want to be like you.” She lifts her chin, staring at him with adoration.
“I’ll teach you.” He pats her head, making her pigtails bounce.
“Oh, dear God,” I mutter under my breath.
“There is no God. Only Zuul.” She smiles, but it doesn’t touch her huge, brown demonic eyes.
My mouth falls open. She’s been all about God for as long as I can remember. What changed?
“I’m afraid to ask who Zuul is,” I say just as Bree walks into the room.
My sister looks over the drawing of the horned dog and makes a pained face. “Her obsession with Christianity has moved on to…Ghostbusters.” She lifts Angel from the chair and gives her a nudge toward the hall. “It’s bath time, young lady.”
“I like him better.” Angel points at Trace as she struts by. “The other one had holes in his cheeks.”
Dimples.
Cole.
My heart freezes in my chest, my entire body paralyzed beneath a wave of torment.
As Bree and Angel disappear down the hall, Trace wraps a hand around my neck and uses his grip to guide me onto his lap.
“Talk to me.” He pushes the coloring table to the side and leans back against the side of the couch.
“I’m fine.” I curl up against his chest and wrap my arms around him. “It’s just… Sometimes, she’s painfully honest.”
“She’s five.” He strokes his thumb across my throat, the touch possessive and comforting. “And logical. Of course, she likes me better. I don’t have holes in my cheeks.” At my ragged sigh, he brushes a lock of hair behind my ear. “Keep talking.”
“When he died, it left a permanent wound inside me. I think I’ve been subconsciously moving on from him for years, but the tiniest thing can reopen the wound, and once it’s open, it takes a while to stop the bleeding.” I straighten and meet his eyes. “I don’t regret, but I think about him often and feel heavy with sadness. I miss him.”
“I know.” His expression softens. “I miss him, too.”
“But you talk to him.”
“Yes.”
“I need to know.” I shift on his lap, putting my face in his and clutching his shoulders. “You have to tell how he’s doing.”
“He’s okay, Danni.” His thick lashes lower, lift again, revealing eyes warm with compassion. “He threw himself back into work.”
“The job offers…” My breath stammers, and my stomach turns to ice. “He said it was dangerous.”
“His job has always been dangerous. He’s good at it. Good enough that I don’t worry about his safety.” He runs his fingers through my hair, soothing me.
“Did he let me go so easily because—?”
“I talked him into working again. After you left.” His hand tightens against my scalp, punctuating his words. “I know him. He needs the distraction. Understand?”
“Yeah.” I don’t like it, but I gave up all rights to have a say in his life. “Thank you for telling me. And for being there for him.”
“He was there for me. Funny how that worked out, huh? Despite it all, we salvaged our friendship.”
It’s more than I could’ve ever asked for, and I’m so fucking grateful.
“Go tell your sister good-bye.” He lifts me off his lap. “We’re leaving.”
And just like that, the conversation is over. I love that I can count on him to listen when I need him and to shut it down before it becomes repetitive and unproductive.
On the ride home, I sit beside him in the Maserati, thoughtfully silent and focused on the future. I’m getting married in a week. Trace is spearheading a foundation for the homeless—a cause that’s near and dear to my heart. And I’m sitting beside a man who sets my skin afire with merely a look. Like now.
“You should probably keep your eyes on the road.” Just the thought of having him inside me again, all swollen heat and hunger, makes my thighs clench.
“Then I’ll have to use my hand.” Deliberately lowering his voice to the pitch of sex, he roams a hand up my thigh and teases the fly on my jeans. “I told you to wear a skirt.”
“And I told you it was too cold.”
He slides his touch away to shift through the gears, and I’m momentarily distracted by how strikingly attractive he looks driving this sporty piece of hot metal. His hand drapes over the steering wheel, the leather seat molding around all that powerful muscle, as he zips through traffic with a wildness that magnifies his confident male beauty.